


The Music In My Heart I Bore

by Doc_VUX



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Choking, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smoking, Threesome - M/M/M, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doc_VUX/pseuds/Doc_VUX
Summary: [Inspired by "The Tale of Will the Reaper" by Ameerkatofficial]"It's late." Thomas' voice is soft, gentle. He's like a lamb, William thinks, watching the thin blanket slide from the blonde’s shoulders. "Would you prefer to stay the night?""I couldn't possibly—""Please," Thomas begs. "It's quite cold outside."





	The Music In My Heart I Bore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ameerkatofficial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameerkatofficial/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Tale of Will the Reaper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584277) by [ameerkatofficial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameerkatofficial/pseuds/ameerkatofficial). 



> Okay so this is the LAST official Black Butler piece I'm ever gonna make. I promised Ameerkatofficial this porno and it's taken like a year to make. Go check out their fic bc it's good as all hell.

"It's late." Thomas' voice is soft, gentle. He's like a lamb, William thinks, watching the thin blanket slide from the blonde’s shoulders. "Would you prefer to stay the night?"  
"I couldn't possibly—"  
"Please," Thomas begs. "It's quite cold outside."  
William looks out the window. It had been snowing on and off, as if Nature refused to decide. The snow that has piled up is dusted with soot and dirt, far from the pure whiteness of pastoral poems and artworks. Their cups of tea are empty, forgotten on the table between them, and William can just imagine frost taking over the rims of the cups, the last few drops.  
"I would hate to send you out in the cold, William." Thomas takes William's hand in both of his own and he is warm to the Reaper, almost a burning sensation. "Please, spend the night with me."  
William, with his free hand, cups Thomas' face, his rosy cheek, and runs his thumb along the carnation-pink of Thomas' lower lip. Thomas turns a bit pinker, a bit warmer, his pulse quickening with William's touches.  
"William," Thomas sighs, a high noise of shy want. "Please."  
"The bedroom," William says past the lump in his throat, “it will be more comfortable, I think.”  
Thomas leads William, one delicate hand still clasped tight by the Reaper. It's small, not that that's a surprise, but the bed will manage them both and the blankets look soft.  
The writer turns, untying the cloth around William's neck. "It's so tight. Almost like a noose."  
Neither of them smile. After the knot comes undone, William takes Thomas' hands, stopping him.  
"Right," Thomas says, blue eyes wide, "I'm terribly sorry."  
"I am too," William says.  
He kisses Thomas, just a gentle pressing of mouth against mouth. Thomas is soft, as if he's warm, smooth marble or the delicate sheerness of silk. William is afraid to press to hard against him, afraid he'll tear Thomas to shreds with too harsh an embrace.  
Thomas seems to have other ideas. His nimble hands working at the buttons of William's suit jacket, pushing the fabric from his shoulders. Slowly, William begins to undo the buttons of Thomas' shirt.  
He's always thought of Thomas in terms of his relative mortal delicacy, his soft-spoken nature and the smoothness of his form. But seeing him shirtless William can see the lean muscle under pale skin, Thomas' body made of gentle, lean cords of muscle curving around Thomas' bones. He really did have a good bone structure, a healthy amount of muscle to him. He’s only more inviting in his state of half-dress.  
"Is there something wrong?" Thomas asks, his voice mangling the silence.  
William kisses along Thomas' pulse, mumbling, "Nothing. I was . . ." He kisses his jaw, trying to summon the words. "You are so beautiful, Thomas."  
"William . . ."  
William gently presses Thomas back into the bed before kneeling. His hands run up Thomas' thighs before pulling off his breeches. And he cant help but worship the structure of Thomas' legs, turning his head to kiss Thomas' left knee.  
"William." A sigh.  
"I want . . ." William licked his lips, gently pushing Thomas' knees apart.  
And Thomas puts up no fight, blue eyes wide with lust, with want, with everything that doesn't suit angels. One hand snakes through William's hair, grasping gently.  
William takes Thomas' member into his hand, simply admiring him. It's not overly large, not an obscene length. It's quite average. But William's strokes gently, enamoured with every part that makes up Thomas.  
"Your hands are cold," Thomas says, thighs trembling.  
"I apologize. Should I-"  
"No!" Thomas turns pink at his outburst. "No. It's a strange feeling but I enjoy it."  
William nods. Stroking gently, he coaxes Thomas to hardness. His member is almost burning hot in his hand.  
"I want to try something," William murmurs, kissing Thomas' hip.  
Thomas can only nod his head, eyes glazed over as if stunned.  
William kisses along Thomas' length. The base, more than a few kisses along the shaft, the head. He licks a stripe up before taking Thomas into his mouth.  
"Ah!" Thomas' nails dig into William's scalp, a lovely form of pain.  
And as William bobs his head, coaxing more moans and sighs of his name out of Thomas, the blonde digs his nails in deeper. William groans around the flesh in his mouth and Thomas seems at his limit, the muscles of his abdomen tightening.  
So William pulls away.  
"What?" Thomas is panting, lets go of William in favour of propping himself up on his elbows. There's a long silence and Thomas goes from sorrowfully wounded to understanding.  
They're interrupted by applause, Thomas startling and throwing a blanker over himself while William practically jumps to his feet..  
William looks up to find Grell leaning in the doorway of the bedroom, leering at them.  
"Why on earth did you stop? It was quite the show, William," Grell teases.  
"Grell." William's voice is icy, cold.  
Grell looks at Thomas, grinning like a cat with a mouse. "Dearest boy, don't cover yourself. I'm a friend."  
Thomas looks at William for reassurance but William's stare is fixated on the red-head. Slowly, Thomas pushes the blanket off himself, face burning to match Grell's hair.  
"Oh now this is impressive," Grell says, inviting themself in. "He's so pretty, William, why ever would you stop?"  
The red-head unbuttons their suit jacket, tossing it to the floor. They took hold of Thomas' legs, just behind the knees, pulling him so violently that William shot forward, grasping Grell by the bicep.  
"Let go of him," William ordered. "Thomas is mine."  
Grell raised a brow, looking up at William. "And if I don't want to give him to you?"  
William could see angry red marks on Thomas' legs, marks that would probably bruise. "Then I will have to harm you, Sutcliff."  
And the coldness of using their surname makes Grell let go of Thomas.  
"No, please, William," Thomas says, still burning bright red in the face. "I would like them to stay."  
William reaches down and pets Thomas' hair. "Are you sure?"  
Thomas nods. "Quite sure."  
Grell smiles, pulling William close to them, hands working at William's slacks. "Oh, what a delightful occasion. You've picked quite the handsome man, William. Like an angel, truly."  
William, stiffly, unbuttons Grell's shirt, pulling the fabric from their chest.  
"Oh," Thomas sighs.  
"Do you like what you see?" Grell asks, gesturing to their waist, the tight-laced corset that shapes them into a near hourglass. "I've always thought it's very sensual."  
"Quite," Thomas agrees.  
William huffs, pulling at the laces of the corset roughly. The knot comes undone, the laces free, and William pulls the corset off.  
Even without the corset, Grell's chest is slender, femininely-shaped. Thomas's jaw hangs slack, unable to say much for a few moments. Finally, he manages, "I am impressed. You're quite beautiful, Grell."  
“You’re too sweet, Thomas,” Grell purrs, “I could just eat you up.”  
Before William can pull off their slacks, Grell pulls a bottle of oil from their pocket. When William raises a brow, they simply grin with all those bright-white sharp teeth and William suppresses a shudder.  
"Now, dearest, this should feel lovely," Grell assures Thomas. They pause, tilting their head to regard William in silence for a moment. "Well, give him something else to do, you useless voyeur."  
William sighs, hands untying the ribbon that keeps Thomas' hair tied back. He sets it on the night-stand and runs fingers through the blonde locks. It's like his hair is spun from silk and William sighs, looking down at Thomas, leaning in as if he might kiss him again.  
He's perfect and so very pure and William hates to see him sullied. But sullied, Thomas has decided to be.  
Thomas squeaks and William jerks back, looking over at Grell, who seems impressed with themself. Craning his neck, William can see the red-head has plunged two fingers into Thomas, the blonde's thighs shaking.  
"Did that wretch hurt you?" William asks.  
Thomas, eyes full of shining tears, shakes his head. "It's wonderful."  
He pulls William close, the Reaper taking a moment to position himself. Standing on one leg, his other knee perched on the bed gives Thomas the best angle and the blonde mouths at William's length for a moment before taking it into his mouth, sucking harshly. And William can't help but groan, not when Thomas is good at this (perhaps too good, he'll muse later to his journal in the light of a flickering stub of a candle).  
Thomas stares up with absolute lust at William, blue eyes turning almost black with how his pupils dilate. William groans, runs fingers through Thomas' hair, thrusts his hips forward. Thomas gags, eyes bulging, and he makes a whimper.  
"Sorry, dearest," William says.  
Thomas is both the rabbit and the trap in the way he sucks so earnestly at William. For a moment, he's sorry he ever saw Thomas as something virginal and pure. Now, as the writer bobs his head, groans around William's cock, and looks up with eyes glazed over in lust, now William can see the potential in Thomas.  
(And later, much much later, when the red-headed wretch is sleeping, William will write something tender, wishing Thomas a long life with many affairs. He'll burn it after Thomas dies in a fit of passions.)  
"He's really wonderful," Grell says.  
William has been content to ignore the rough jerks of their arm, the near-painful contortions of the wretch's wrist, working Thomas open like a common whore with no regard for the blonde's comfort.  
"Really, a prodigy." They crane their neck to watch Thomas working at William's length. "A real and honest prodigy, William."  
Green meets green. Grell smiles wide, with all their sharp teeth. William scowls, narrows his eyes.  
"You take him first," Grell says, leaping out of bed. "It's only fair."  
"When have you ever cared about fairness?" William asks.  
Grell places a hand on William's shoulder, steering him into bed, between Thomas' spread thighs. He's quite a sight: his lower lip swollen and shining with spit, hair dishevelled (and for a moment William can picture Thomas with small, soft breasts), blue eyes wide, trained on William for a moment before Grell takes his hair, forcing Thomas to look up at them.  
Thomas manages a glance at William. "Please."  
Any hesitation William had dissolves, but he goes slow. He's no concerned with his own pleasure but the pleasure of the human. William traces the angry red-purple marks on Thomas' thighs until he's completely sheathed in the human, touches the bruises as if he'll soothe them away.  
William takes one of Thomas' hands in his own, their fingers interlacing like lovers. William gives an experimental and shallow thrust of his hips, Thomas' eyes rolling back and mouth open in a low groan.  
"I can see why you like this little harlot," Grell purrs. "Perhaps—"  
"Sutcliff." William's tone is heavy, like a door slammed shut. "Enough."  
Grell looks over their shoulder, brow furrowing and eyes narrowing. But their mouth slowly closes. To spite William, they thrust their hips into Thomas' open and moaning mouth, silencing the human and making him gag for a moment before he adjusts.  
Thomas strokes Grell with his free hand as he bobs his head. He looks at Grell with so much awe and adoration. Something slimy crawls down the back of William's throat, nesting in his belly, guiding his hips. He's somewhat satisfied he can make Thomas lose his rhythm, frustrating Grell. He's glad Thomas is getting off just as much as Grell is.  
William rolls his hips, never too sharp a motion, and draws muffles moans from Thomas the way one draws poetry from their pen. It's slow, but Thomas seems to enjoy it.  
Thomas looks over at William, pleading, and the Reaper's other hand finds Thomas' organ, pumping slowly. It makes Thomas rock his hips against William's hand, against William's cock.  
"You're being too gentle," Grell tells William. "You're supposed to pound him into the mattress. Would you like that, dearest?"  
The slimy tone the endearment takes feeds that dark creature in William's gut. But Thomas pulls away from Grell's cock to murmur, "A bit faster, William. You won't hurt me, honest."  
William nods, letting go of Thomas. And quicker sends heat through William. He's almost embarrassed he feels like he won't last longer.  
Grell interrupts the silence again to groan, pulling out of Thomas' mouth to spend themself over Thomas' cheeks, his lips, his soft, pink tongue. They pant for a moment, relishing in the way Thomas swallows the red-head's seed.  
It makes William sick.  
"Fuck him harder," Grell instructs.  
William raises a brow, looks at Thomas, who simply nods, his mouth only able to make the sounds "more" and "William" and "yes." It's hardly consent but William's focus is Thomas' pleasure.  
Grell, shamelessly, bends to pull a pack of cigarettes—a Reaper's vice—from their jacket pocket. They light it, smoking and watching William making love to Thomas.  
"Thomas," William says. "I - "  
"William, please."  
And Thomas looks lovely in spite of the way Grell's ruined him. His lips take on a shine and William could kiss him, kiss him forever, he thinks.  
Grell's slender hand takes hold of Thomas' throat, holding tight. They blow smoke into his open mouth.  
The concern that races in his chest forces William to pull out of Thomas, seizing Grell by the wrist. Grell raises a sharp, burning brow.  
"I won't hurt him, really," the red-head insists. "I just want to make him cum a bit harder."  
"I don't believe you." William snaps. "Let go of him."  
"Grell."  
"Cum in him," Grell says. "He'll get off better like this."  
"You can't kill him now."  
Grell's grip loosens, just enough for Thomas to take a breath, shed some of the worrying red in his face. But then they tighten their grip again, locking eyes with William.  
"Do it," they challenge.  
William, relieved for the moment, settles back between Thomas' thighs. He's gone a bit flaccid with his fright, but he sinks into Thomas and the human wheezes his appreciation for the sensation.  
William, still sheathed in Thomas, watches Grell exert control over Thomas' breath. The red-head is cautious and Thomas' eyes have gone white, eyes rolled back into his head with pleasure.  
And Thomas' length throbs to painfully that William has a need to make Thomas reach his climax.  
William thrusts fast, hard, hitting the one spot that forces breath from Thomas' lungs. Grell lets up every so often to allow Thomas to moan, take a breath, then forces him to hold it again.  
William's abdomen tightens in the hot grip of climax, filling Thomas with his seed. Thomas cums of his own accord, translucent pearls beading over his abdomen in splashes.  
"See?" Grell lets go and Thomas' eyes slide shut. "He's cum so hard he's catatonic."  
While Grelle puts out their cigarette on Thomas' writing desk, William pulls out of Thomas, traces the angry red around Thomas' throat. He's breathing and his pulse slows to something soothing. William gets up, goes to the bathroom to grab a rag, wetting it.  
When he returns to the bedroom, Grell is nowhere to be seen and a window's open, curtains swaying in the winter breeze. William closes the window, having a mind to scold the wretch later, and tends to Thomas, cleaning him as if he's a porcelain doll. But the bruises on his thighs, around his throat, attest to him being made of something stronger.  
William dresses, tucks Thomas in, and kisses his forehead. He leaves using the front door, like a gentleman.


End file.
